A godmodder is someone on a forum, normally an admin or moderator, that is able to counter or block any attack towards him.

TIPS:
1. You can help the godmodder, but don't expect him to help you back. Expect betrayal...
2. The godmodder can be beaten, but you have to use attacks that can't be godmodded.
3. Don't expect any attacks to work more than once.
4. Summoning can take a while. Make progress bars or that kind of thing for summoning huge "anti-godmodder bosses" or the like.
5. Any attacks on the godmodder usually won't do any damage, and if they do, they'll do very little.

Godmodder HP: 100/100

"Every game has a story, but only one is a legend..." - Archaois, DeviantArt

Well, really, he wasn't enjoying it, but due to the fact that firstly, his Commander-In-Chief and National Hero, Abraham Lincoln, had personally sent an invitation for his presence, and secondly, that his fiancee, Clara, was clearly angry for his previous tardiness to her Father's Senatorial Dinner in New York (she was one of 4 daughters of the illustrious Ira Harris, not to mention the most favoured of which), Henry Rathbone saw fit to kill two birds with a single stone....that is, to please his President with his presence and to soothe his wife's fury with a night viewing Our American Cousin, a shameless caricature of English nobility. Being an anglophile himself, Rathbone bit his tongue as he saw the old traditions of his ancestors laughed at with incessant vigour.

This night could not get any worse.

Suddenly, his ambassadorial sense told him that something was behind them in Lincoln's Presidential booth. However, he found himself unable to turn, as if someone else was physically preventing him from turning by not allowing the thought to pass from mind to body.

Struggling with growing intensity, Rathbone could stand it no longer, and in a single sentence, sprang forth from the page and faced his adversary; none other than the sham of an actor, John Wilkes Boothe himself!

However, Rathbone was hardly the man he used to be, and Booth was far too quick as he pulled a small single shot pistol, aiming at the President's head.

In a moment's notice, Rathbone moved to jump in trajectory of the weapon, but again, found himself glued to the chair by the inaction of a post not yet written! Of opportunity lost before words could be transcribed!

Summoning all his will power, he pulled his side-arm, overcoming the lethargy (or rather inaction) that this Boothe character had managed to convey in merely 3 short posts of all-powerful actions without conversing with the other members of this play within a play within a historical fiction based on a tragic event in history.

Avast! He was too late! The President of the United States was shot!

Empowered by rage (not only at Boothe, but also at his firearm whose powder had conveniently become wet in the rainy period before the play, thus ruining the shot), Rathbone leapt from his chair, bowie knife drawn (which he'd managed to smuggle past the Pinkerton guards outside) and moved to stab it into Booth's beating heart!

Suddenly, Booth withdrew his own bowie knife, slicing Rathbone across the chest and sending him spiraling from the Presidential booth, landing 30 feet below on the idiot English noblemen himself. Feeling the dull thud and crack of bones beneath him, Henry Rathbone knew that the actor's condition was grave. Pulling himself from the crumbled mass of a Human being, Rathbone leaned his head to the ear of the now-soon-to-be-impoverished actor...

"No worries, there are still 8 months before the Razzies..."

Rathbone stood, blood seeping from his chest, his back bruised, his knee partially broken, wiping a slip of pure testosterone oozing from his hurt upper lip, and summoned the almighty Power of Emancipation.

"By the power of Lincoln-Skull, I am the Emancipator!"

Feet powered by the force of pure Liberty and Progressive Thought, Rathbone flew towards Booth (who was at the time jumping to the stage shouting 'sic semper tyrannus') kicking him midair, back into the booth.

Following his kickstart, Rathbone followed with countless blows to Booth's ribs and face, allowing little time for a response post from Booth. A power emanated from Rathbone's eyes, the power of Unification, and shot bright light directly into the heartless Booth's stomach cavity, at last satisfying Booth's hunger for media attention in the Washington night life.

The sheer horribleness of Henry's pun burned imprints on Boothe's face, which was quickly enveloped by the flaming fist of Rathbone. The angry Rebel disintegrated into ashes, just before Major Rathbone's kindly Admin, none other than the bleeding Lincoln himself, gave him a punitive infraction for multiple cases of double posting.

Rathbone relented and was at rest.

At last, the War Between the States of Godmodders had ended.

you very much If a tree would fall in the woods.....would the other trees laugh at it?